


After

by mandalora



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Ahsoka needs a hug, F/M, Maul needs a hug, Translation, author needs a hug, maulsoka if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-08
Updated: 2020-03-08
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:20:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23065369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mandalora/pseuds/mandalora
Summary: Maul, she realizes, is frighteningly human
Relationships: Darth Maul/Ahsoka Tano
Comments: 24
Kudos: 258
Collections: Maul





	After

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bobbinredrobin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bobbinredrobin/gifts).
  * A translation of [После](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22789819) by [daddylonglegs (bobbinredrobin)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bobbinredrobin/pseuds/daddylonglegs). 



> With the season seven premiere only a few days away, we held out as best we could. Canon divergence AU, with sabacc and Twi’lek dancers.  
> Thank you to dearest mandalora, this wouldn’t have happened without you!
> 
> **[Translator's note: uwuuwuwuwu]**

Cold blue flashes of hyperspace outside the shuttle’s viewports strip the scene of its last smidgens of reality. Once in a while, the imperial vessel shudders and shakes—slightly, barely noticeably, like a wounded animal—and then, somewhere in the depths of the durasteel belly, something rattles with alarm at the very edge of earshot. This vibration echoes in the very bones, and Ahsoka pulls her knees closer to her chest in order to quell it.

Maul tears around the hold like an enraged rancor. Back and forth, back and forth, again and again without rest—heavy iron footsteps slamming on the metal flooring, teeth bared in a silent snarl. He’s like rage, scarlet, seething rage, and the Force whirls and howls around him, spins into a mad maelstrom—but something else slithers in it besides the fury, something Ahsoka can’t name. It streams in goosebumps along the spine, curls into a cold, slimy ball somewhere in the stomach. 

Were it someone else with her, and not Maul, she’d call it despair. Loneliness.

Fear.

Ahsoka slightly shakes her head at herself.

The thundering footsteps near her come to an abrupt stop. Maul stills in the center of the hold for just a moment, tense like a stretched string—and then something in him suddenly breaks, and it must be frightening, Ahsoka distantly thinks, watching blankly as the fury in the dark-stained eyes gives way to defeat, as the tense shoulders drop. As he, like a blind man, plods to the far wall and slides down to the floor, silently burying his tattooed head in his hands. The Force howls and groans all around.

Inside, Ahsoka is empty.

x

She quickly loses count of days. In space, time is uniform; only the programmed lighting cycles can track it. Onboard the small shuttle hovering in a glowing tunnel of hyperspace, there is no concept of time at all.

Ahsoka can’t sleep, only slips into light dozing now and again. She doesn’t allow herself anything more: her trained body resists rest, the stimulants from the ship’s medkit keep her awake when habit no longer can. Ancient predator ways of her people simmer in her blood: don’t drop your guard near the enemy, she hears somewhere between measured heartbeats. Don’t show your back.

Anakin taught her to trust her instincts.

She thinks of him. How, in the end, while handing her the weapons, he smiled—crooked, a little awkward, but sincere and proud, as if she met all his hopes and exceeded all expectations. The warmth of his hand on her shoulder. The joy shining in his eyes. 

She thinks of Rex, her old loyal friend. The clones— _boys_ —from the 501st. Fresh paint on worn helmets, terracotta and white—her markings, smiles and smirks, the fire in their eyes. The shudder rippling through their rows. Black muzzles of blasters pointed at her.

On Mandalore, she and Rex went their separate ways. He clapped her goodbye on the shoulder—and, with her lightsabers, vanished into the smoky thundering of explosions. Where is he now? How is he? What of Anakin?

Maul, she thinks. In the fiery chaos of Mandalore, they ended up side by side—and, simply, wordlessly, he pushed her into a shuttle. Why? What for? What are his goals?

The thoughts are unbearable. 

x

“Do you hate me, Lady Tano?” Maul asks, the first words said between them since their fight on Mandalore. The familiar mockery lurks in the insinuating, snakelike tone, but the eyes, clouded with red, full of trembling madness, are attentive and grave.

Ahsoka stills mid-motion, head slightly bowed. The piercing gaze burns into her back between her shoulder blades while she ponders this question.

 _Let your emotions get the better of you, do not,_ she practically hears Master Yoda’s rattling voice. _A path to the Dark Side, strong feelings open. Want that, you do not, young Padawan, hm?_

Not a Padawan anymore, not for a long time. The Order turned their backs on her. She will never become a Jedi. She doesn’t _need_ to be a Jedi. But did she turn away from the Order? Then why? Maul’s hands did evil. They bear thousands of faults, thousands of deaths. 

Why?

“No,” Ahsoka answers levelly, without turning around, and tosses a rations pack over her shoulder. 

Surprised silence sloshes on the bridge behind her.

x

Maul speaks. He speaks often and a lot, absorbed; he paces around the hold and his black-and-red marked hands rise and fall—fitfully, but almost hypnotically. He draws shapes and schematics in the air, outlines routes; lays out pans, occasionally interrupting himself, changing topic mid-sentence, breaking into quiet, menacing hissing. He is ruthless and indifferent, he speaks of revenge and of death, and Ahsoka listens without saying a word. He doesn’t ask her to respond.

Sometimes, Maul seems to forget that she’s near. A desolate haze films over his eyes then, and his gaze turns distant, very far away. Usually restless, he freezes, as it seems, on the very brink of insanity, and Ahsoka doesn’t know the language he speaks, but amidst the harsh, choppy speech she makes out names. In these moments, the Force blustering around him abates, and amidst the other’s burning hatred Ahsoka senses pain.

Maul, she realizes, is frighteningly human, and, little by little, the ancient pillars of the Jedi Code begin to crumble in the depths of her mind.

Ahsoka does not empathize with him.

But she breaks her silence.

x

“I will teach you everything I know,” Maul says, looking at her straight on. Blue flares dance in his wide-open, feverishly burning eyes. “I will show you the power of the Dark Side. You will become the greatest of the Sith, Lady Tano. Together we will destroy Sidious. The Empire will fall with him. _We will take revenge on them all.”_

Ahsoka bitterly tightens her lips, shakes her head.

“Lady Tano” no longer sounds like mockery.

x

Sparring is a wonderful way to kill boredom, Ahsoka decides. Maul is an excellent opponent: fast, agile, and very, very dangerous. He moves with a predator’s grace, as if flowing from one position into another; he’s collected and unusually focused, and Ahsoka needs to make every effort not to break under his onslaught. In the cramped space of the shuttle they don’t even use the Force, let alone weapons, but the whirlwind of the other’s rage and pain, blustering around them in the fray, doesn’t allow her to concentrate. A blow, another—she barely manages to block, dodge, dive under the other’s arm, and it’s so unlike and yet like their training sessions with Anakin in the Jedi Temple, that something clenches sharply and painfully in Ahsoka’s chest.

Distracted, she misses the next attack.

The mighty blow against the durasteel flooring knocks all air out of her lungs. She tries to roll away, but Maul playfully presses her to the floor and brings the edge of his hand to her defenseless throat.

He could kill me right now, Ahsoka distantly thinks.

Maul peers into her face, as if looking for something. He frowns, takes his hand away. Rises to his feet in a smooth, quick motion, takes a step back.

“Again,” he sharply says.

After, exhausted, they sit side by side by the wall. Ahsoka thinks it strange and familiar at the same time, and she doesn’t know what to do with this feeling.

“Why didn’t you kill me on Mandalore?” she asks, staring at the ceiling with unseeing eyes.

Next to her, Maul doesn’t reply. He merely laughs—short, hoarse, and cheerless—and tiredly drops his head to her shoulder.

Ahsoka doesn’t lean away.

**Author's Note:**

> *jazz hands*


End file.
